Feels Like Home
by VisenyasDragons
Summary: The War is fought and won, but England no longer feels like home for Pansy. She spends her time travelling, attempting to find somewhere she feels she belongs.


England no longer felt like home.

She could not venture out in public anymore. Not without one pair of eyes finding her, whispering to their neighbor, "She's the one. The one that wanted to turn Potter over to Voldemort." And then more eyes would find her and more whispers would be passed and Pansy would grit her teeth, swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat like acid. She bit back every disparaging comment on how dull their lives must be, to even now be able to recognize her voice and her name and whisper about her. She buried the urge to ask what it was like, to live such a mundane life so that even she was akin to a celebrity.

Did they not understand? She had been frightened. She had friends to look out for. Draco, Blaise, Daphne, Theodore, Tracey, Flora, Hestia, Astoria, Millicent, Vincent, Gregory. They were all in danger and so was she because of one boy she had never gotten to know. Did they not understand? She had hardly been the only one thinking it – she had just been the only one brave enough to say it.

There were few friends left to her now, and fewer still that cared to hear her complaints. "_Just give it time. This will all blow over_." But Pansy Parkinson had never been a patient person, not even when it came to _him_, so when the boy she loved decided they just weren't compatible and she lost the last thing tethering her to this place she left.

Only three people came to say goodbye.

She spent a year in Spain, under Blaise's recommendation. The people greeted her with warm hugs and smooth words with long vowels in a language she could barely understand. None of them had heard of the pale, pug-faced girl before and Pansy flourished. The bustling streets and lazy afternoons spent exploring new foods and wandering through new places almost allowed her to forget her old life.

Pansy fell in love with the colors of the sky at sunset, with the bright sun that warmed her insides during the day, with a man who put up with her halting, limited Spanish and worked to make it better. She fell in love with the rich foods and vibrant colors and the warmth of the people's souls.

But the winters were warm and the summers warmer and this place did not feel like home.

Sweden greeted her with cold winds and rough tongues with far too many consonants that Pansy could not understand. She fell in love with snow-capped mountains, with bitter winter air that chilled her to the bone, with a girl whose English was harsh and awkward but who loved to listen to her speak.

Maybe her heart had simply already frozen over, because this place did not feel like home.

She spent weeks wandering the Louvre and Champs-Élysées, days watching the ballerinas of Russia, too much time to count in the countryside of Belgium and cities of Germany. She fell in love with places, and with people, but none of them felt like home. Blaise had met with her in Italy, spending months showing her his favorite spots; introducing her to his sisters and brothers she hadn't met, to his newest stepfather; catching up with his mother.

Pansy found herself considering staying. This place did not quite feel like home but she liked it better than the rest. Until the invitation came.

It felt like a punch to the gut but Pansy still found herself back in England, standing outside the bride's tent on the day of the wedding. Bride and maid-of-honor stood before her, Daphne pulling her into a tight hug that Astoria was quick to join. "I've missed you so much! How long have you been home?"

Pansy bit back a correction, instead smiling and answering, "I just got in this morning." Four years away and this place was not home. It was the farthest thing.

The service was beautiful and the bride was beautiful and Merlin was Draco beautiful. Pansy congratulated the happy couple, trying to ignore the way his eyes lit up with happiness in a way she'd never seen before every time he stole a glance at Astoria. She gave them gifts from all the places she'd been, ignoring how warm and comfortable his embrace was when he thanked her. She smiled and ignored the brilliant way he smiled back. She smiled and ignored the pain in her chest as he left with his bride.

She smiled and smiled and kept smiling because she had an idea of where home was, but it didn't want her anymore. Someone else had moved in.

It wasn't until that night, stumbling drunk on Firewhiskey and pounding on Blaise's door, did she stop smiling. He held her close as she sobbed into his chest, not needing words to know such heartbreak when he saw it. He stroked her hair, whispering softly in her ear, "I know, _cara_. I know."

These arms were not home.

But maybe, just maybe, they could be.


End file.
